


Cut the Wires Sequence Four: 'Till You're Set on Fire

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Soldiers of Fire and Shadows [20]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt No Comfort, Hydra are dicks, I'm Sorry, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Jughead NO, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Protective Jughead Jones, Protective Matt Murdock, So is Grant Ward, The Author Remains a Horrible Person, Torture, and a hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: Jughead had no idea how long they'd been here, in this place that smelled like corpses and pancake syrup, but he didn't think Matt was going to survive it.





	Cut the Wires Sequence Four: 'Till You're Set on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Once more, the title comes from [Wires by Basia Bulat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQ4pfoZjyzo&feature=youtu.be).
> 
> * * *
> 
> Forgive me?

Jughead didn't know what was worse: when Grant Ward's men came to take Matt away, or when they didn't bring him back.

There was another room somewhere, different from the screaming one. Matt must've been in that room when they brought Jughead in, since otherwise Jughead would've known there was another prisoner before he heard Matt screaming.

Matt didn't scream when he was in the other room, but when he came back he didn't make any noise at all. He wouldn't hug Jughead or talk to him or anything. He just lay where Grant's men dropped him, like he was knocked out even though he was still awake.

It was scary as hell, even worse than when Jughead had to tell Matt his own name. It terrified him that Matt had forgotten so much he didn't even know how to exist anymore. Like everything that made him real had been torn out.

Like they were ripping him apart.

Jughead would keep Matt warm as best he could, and tell Matt his name, and talk about Riverdale and his friends and anything he could think of, until Matt would wake up again and start talking again.

At least Matt didn't scream. That was a horrible thing to be grateful for: that at least some of the time he got still and quiet instead of screaming so bad Jughead had to cover his ears.

Maybe the quiet was worse, though. At least Matt still acted like a person when he came back shaking and hoarse from screaming. Maybe it was selfish too, to prefer it when Matt was clutching his shoulders and begging Jughead to tell him his name. But at least when he did Matt was _there._

The room where he and Matt were kept was always dark, and nobody spoke to him unless they brought in Matt or took him away. All Jughead knew for sure was that whatever they'd doped him with when they kidnapped him had finally worn off, and he was really thirsty and so hungry he could've eaten his jacket. He kept thinking about the burgers at Pop's, or pot roast at Archie's house, or even Mac 'n' Cheese with his dad. And then he'd remember his dad was dead and he had to bite the inside of his mouth so he wouldn't start crying and get hit again.

He was terrified that Grant would kill Matt like he'd killed Jughead's father, and then Jughead would be completely alone.

Sometimes it was like he was already alone anyway. Jughead had no idea how long they'd been here, in this place that smelled like corpses and pancake syrup, but he didn't think Matt was going to survive it. Matt came back worse and worse every time, regardless of where they'd taken him. The second time he came back from the screaming place his ears were bleeding. Jughead had got some on his fingers. The third time he just lay there gasping like he couldn't even remember how to breathe. He kept trying to speak. Jughead could hear the desperate, useless noises, but there was nothing he could understand. Jughead didn't know if Matt's mouth wouldn't work right for it anymore, or if Matt couldn't remember any words.

Jughead hugged him as hard as he could and told him, _You're Matthew Michael Murdock. That's your name. You're gonna be okay_ over and over again, until Matt finally stopped shaking.

Matt tried to say 'Thank you', but all he managed was _T-t-t-t,_ like a baby. Jughead said he was welcome anyway.

It felt like hours later when Matt suddenly patted his arm and said, "R-Rain. Rain."

Jughead was so happy Matt could say anything at all that he didn't tell him that wasn't his name. He'd let Matt call him 'Rain' forever if it meant his mind wasn't totally gone.

And that was just the third time they took Matt away.

Matt said Grant was ripping him apart. Jughead was terrified it was true.

Jughead was sure that pretty soon Grant was going to take him to the screaming room and tear him apart too. And he'd have nobody to hug him afterwards or tell him his name.

* * *

"The thing is," Grant Ward was saying, "the thing is, Zola was too _cautious_ , you know?"

Grant Ward was next to the…table? Yes, table. It was a table that he was held down on, thick bands around his wrists and…and ankles. One more around his waist. Grant Ward was moving liquid from something to something else. It smelled familiar in a way that made his stomach twist and his heart rattle in fear. But he didn't know why.

All he knew was that he _really didn't want it_. Matthew (Yes, Matthew. _Matthew Michael Murdock_. The boy had told him that. That was his name) didn't remember being…poked? Stabbed? _Injected._ He didn't remember being injected before. But he could feel the tiny holes in his arms where he was certain Grant Ward had put the liquid in.

It was dark. Matthew could hear and…breathe things… _smell things_ , and feel. And he could taste something salty and…metal? Maybe metal, when he licked his lips. But he couldn't _see._ It was all dark, everything. He'd asked Grant Ward why it was dark and Grant Ward had told him it was alright but it wasn't alright. Matthew was sure of almost nothing, but he knew that. He couldn't see and it wasn't alright.

"Yeah. He was way too cautious," Grant Ward said. "I mean, I know that it was an experiment, so it had to be documented. But honestly, years? It doesn't take years to break someone. You just have to know the right way to do it."

Was Grant Ward speaking to someone else? Matthew could only hear and smell one person in the room with him. He couldn't name the thing Grant Ward smelled like, but Matthew hated it. It made him nauseous, like the awful sweetness and rot that…oozed into his nose every time he breathed.

He hated Grant Ward's voice, too. And his touch, the way he took up space, the heat from his body. He wanted to hit him until all he could smell was the metal and salt; taste it in the back of his throat. Matthew wanted to break Grant Ward into pieces that no one could put back again.

"I mean, you know that they only did the electroshock on James once a _day?_ " He sounded like that was impossible to believe. Matthew didn't know what 'electroshock' was. He didn't know anyone named James. "Sometimes less often than that." Something clinked. Grant Ward came closer. His breath smelled like old coffee, nearly overpowered by the smell Matthew couldn't name.

Matthew gagged.

Grant Ward paused, then put his hand on Matthew's forehead. Matthew couldn't move to flinch. "You all right? If you're going to throw up let me know, okay? I don't want you suffocating."

He pulled his hand back and moved farther away, so Matthew could at least breathe.

"Yeah, so. I don't get that. The serum _worked,_ you know?" (Matthew didn't know.) "James could've handled more than once a day. Much more than that. And they let him sleep, too. And gave him food. No wonder it took years. It's like they had no clue what they were doing. Not like us, though, right?" He patted Matthew's shoulder. Matthew still couldn't flinch, but he made a miserable, disgusted noise through his teeth. "Shh. It's all right. It's just me, your brother."

Brother?

"As I was saying, look at you. You've been in the Chair four times in the last forty-two hours. That's more than twice a day, and you're fine, aren't you?" Grant Ward put his hand back on Matthew's head, moving his fingers through his hair. "Yeah. You're just fine. I know it hurts. I'm so sorry about that." He kept moving his hand. It felt… _violation_. It was a violation. Matthew didn't want it. He didn't want Grant Ward touching him.

"Doe…doan…don't…Don't. Don't." Had it always been this hard to speak? He managed to turn his head a little, trying to make Grant Ward stop.

Grant Ward hit him across the face with the back of his fist. Matthew knew it was coming, but he couldn't move. He could only cry out in pain then lie there gasping with the taste of salt and metal in his mouth.

"Why do you keep making me do that?" Grant Ward sounded confused and sad. "Do you think I _like_ hurting you? Or that I _want_ you to go back to Forsythe with more bruises? Why do you keep giving me no other choice? What's wrong with you?"

( _Stick,_ Matthew thought. And, _What's wrong with you, Matty?_ He didn't know whose voice it was in his head.)

"You're my brother, Matthew," Grant Ward said. "That means you don't say 'no' to me. You understand? You don't say 'no' to your family, Matthew. That hurts."

Being hit hurt. Matthew understood that. He nodded.

"That's better." Grant Ward put his hand on Matthew's forehead. This time Matthew stayed silent and very still. "I know it hurts, and I know you're feeling confused right now. That's okay. Everything's going to be clear really soon, I promise."

He pulled his hand away from Matthew's head. There was a crumpling noise and then there was a stripe of wet and cold on Matthew's arm. He flinched, then waited for the blow, but Grant Ward didn't hit him again.

"To be fair, we learned a lot from Zola and Faustus. Hydra doesn't have to fight for loyalty anymore. Not the way they did with your brothers. We're all happy to comply, you know?" Grant Ward tapped something with his nail. "I wasn't happy, at first. Not in the beginning. But I had someone who cared about me, just like I care about you. This'll sting a little bit."

A needle slid into Matthew's arm. It did sting, and then cold seeped into him. He couldn't help the anxious sound he made, or how his breath sped up, chest heavy with fear. Because he could feel it seeping up his arm and he _didn't want it_. It was…it _did something_ to him, and he didn't…. He couldn't _remember_ ….

He tried to…resist. Resist it, but he was sinking, floating slowly down, down, away from the table and the room and the smell and his anger and fear. He was asleep and awake at the same time, unable to see but his eyes were open. He was cold and he could hear Grant Ward murmuring, "Shhh. Shhh. I know. I know you don't like it. I'm sorry." But he couldn't move except for the sinking.

Grant Ward started to push his fingers through Matthew's hair again, over and over. Matthew didn't want Grant Ward touching him, but he was asleep so he couldn't stop it. (And _you don't say 'no' to your family, Matthew_.)

Were they family?

"I had someone too, before, when I was confused and in pain like you," Grant Ward said. His voice was like embers, falling into Matthew's head. Each word burned and stuck and he couldn't not listen. "He was my family, just like I'm yours. And he taught me how compliance will be rewarded, just like I'm teaching you. And he was right. It is rewarded. It always is. But order has to come through pain. I wish I could stop it hurting, but I can't. It's necessary. Just a little longer, okay? Take a deep breath, and remember your training. Compliance will be rewarded. We'll be a family, the way we were always meant to be."

Grant Ward pulled his hand away and Matthew was asleep so he didn't notice Grant Ward moving until suddenly there was something soft and heavy covering his ears, hard plastic on the top of his head. There was sound, now: not music, not anything Matthew knew (except _he had to fight it. He couldn't listen_ ) but the sound was like Grant Ward's voice, like embers, and quiet so he had to chase the noise. He knew he shouldn't—that he _must not_ —listen, but he was asleep and he couldn't stop, and the words drifted into him and burned and burned and burned….

"That's a good boy," Grant Ward said. He gripped Matthew's hand. "We're really lucky that that Whitehall developed an audio version of the training. Otherwise we would've been stuck with just the drugs and the Chair, and we know how well that ended up working, right?"

Matthew didn't know. He was chasing the embers and he didn't know anything.

Grant Ward squeezed Matthew's hand once then let go. "You just relax. I'll be back later."

He walked out the door, leaving Matthew alone in the darkness, asleep and awake and burning.

* * *

It was different this time, when they brought Matthew back.

There was a new bruise on the side of his face, but this time they weren't dragging him. He was leaning heavily on Grant, with his arm across Grant's shoulders and Grant's arm around Matt's waist. And instead of dropping him Grant helped him sit on the floor with his back against the wall.

They'd given Matt a shirt, too: the same kind of black military sweater they all wore. Jughead didn't know what it meant, other than maybe Grant not wanting Matt to actually freeze to death. At least Matt wasn't shivering.

He was still staring at nothing though, just like always. Well, Matt could only stare at nothing, since he couldn't see (another thing that made Jughead terrified. What if Matt never got back his sight?) So maybe the staring didn't actually count. But Matt was still too quiet and unmoving, more like a doll than a man. Jughead hated it.

"You rest up. Okay, Matthew?" Grant patted Matt's shoulder, then his cheek, beaming at him the whole time. Matt didn't react to it. "You did so well today. I'm so proud of you."

Matt didn't answer either.

"I'm proud of you too, Forsythe," Grant said. His smile for Jughead was big and warm. "I know this is awful." He chuckled. "I _know,_ it is, believe me. I spent some time in place just like this, when I was around your age. But it's for the best. You know what they say about how it's cruel to be kind, right?"

"I also know what they say about narcissistic sociopaths," Jughead snapped.

It was a bad idea. _Oh, God,_ was it a bad idea. Jughead knew that even before the last word left his mouth. He didn't need to see Grant's expression darkening like a storm to be completely aware of how badly he'd messed up. Jughead tried to never say anything without thinking about it first, but he was exhausted and scared and Grant Ward had _killed his dad_ and so he'd done exactly that. In the worst possible place to do it.

"What did you say?" Grant's voice had gone ice-cold, colder than the room Jughead was trapped in. "You think you can talk to me like that?" He stalked towards him.

"I'm sorry!" Jughead blurted, scrambling to his feet. He tried to backpedal, but there was nowhere to go. All he managed was to wedge himself into the corner. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!"

Grant snatched Jughead's jacket collar in both his fists and hauled Jughead towards him. "Yes you did," he snarled. His eyes were like a winter night when you can't see the moon. "You think you can talk to me like that, you little shit?" He gave Jughead a shake like he was a bad dog. The back of his head bounced off the wall.

Matt rocketed up and punched Grant so hard in the side of his head Jughead felt the _crack_ of it in his own teeth.

Grant reeled and dropped him. Matt was on him immediately, vicious and deadly as an angry wolf. He hit Grant in the kidney: two quick punches like a boxer, then blocked Grant's swing. Then Matt grabbed Grant by the collar of his shirt and ran the other man into the far wall. The back of Grant's head smacked into it with a lot more noise than Jughead's had.

"Run!" Matt barked at him. He hit Grant again and again: holding him in place while he pounded on him with his other hand. "Rain, get out of here! Run!"

Jughead ran.

He bolted down the corridor, going right because they always took Matt left. He didn't want to leave Matt, but if he escaped he could get help.

There was a gunshot behind him, loud as the end of the world.

Jughead screamed in horror, almost skidded to a stop on his bare feet and ran back. But he couldn't help Matt if he stayed here. And if Matt was…if Grant had killed him too, Jughead couldn't help him anyway.

He lowered his head and kept going.

He ran as fast as he could, but he'd gone at least a day—days?—without food or water, sleeping on freezing concrete in a room that felt like a meat locker. He was laboring even before he heard the angry _Hey!_ and the sound of men thundering after him. 

But he was taken down by someone else, who leaped out of a doorway and tackled him to the floor.

It knocked the wind out of him completely. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak to tell them he couldn't breathe. He could only lie there gasping like a dying fish, wild-eyed from fear and pain. He tried to roll onto his side, thinking it would help get air into his lungs, but the man was holding him down and he couldn't move—

The next thing he was actually aware of was voices in pitch-blackness. They sounded angry, but he couldn't understand what they were talking about. Then the world came back like a slap to the face, but it took a couple seconds for Jughead to realize he was being carried over someone's shoulder, staring down at the concrete. His back was sore. 

It took him another second to remember what had happened, and then Jughead's heart fell so hard and fast he thought he might be sick. Matt had lost. Matt had _been shot_ and he might be _dead,_ and even if he wasn't they were still prisoners and now what was going to happen to them?

"Got 'im," the man carrying him called out cheerfully as they returned to the cell.

"Great," Grant Ward said. He was out of breath, but mostly sounded like Jughead's mom used to, after she and FP had another fight and she was controlling her rage.

Jughead was carried into the room and dropped on the floor. It hurt, but he barely felt it next to all the fear.

Matt was lying on his side, blood pooling beneath him. He looked dead.

"Matt!" Jughead shot up to his hands and knees, trying to get to him.

Grant grabbed him by the back of his jacket and hauled him away from Matt so hard he heaved him into the wall. Then he kicked Jughead in the stomach, and then while he was gasping and puking bile, Grant walked over and fisted the grubby collar of his shirt, then used it to shove him back against the wall.

"This is my fault, I know that," Grant said. He didn't sound angry anymore, just really sad. He crouched in front of Jughead, pinning him to the wall. Grant's face was mottled with bruising, his right eyelid beginning to swell. Jughead hoped he was in a lot of pain. Grant wiped the drool off Jughead's chin with a swipe of his thumb, then wiped his thumb on Jughead's jacket. "I've obviously been too lenient with you. Both of you. I thought Matt had understood what it meant to be a family. Obviously I was wrong. And you—"

"We're not family!" Jughead screamed. "You killed my family! You killed my dad!"

Grant grabbed Jughead by the jaw and squeezed so hard Jughead cried out in pain. "I was lenient," Grant said. His eyes were dark and cold as river stones. "I was lenient and kind, because we're family. But now I see how you took my kindness and threw it back in my face." He kept squeezing. Tears of pain pooled in Jughead's eyes. "I promise you, Forsythe, I'm not going to make that mistake again." He looked at the men hovering near the door. "Get Matthew stitched up, then take him back to the Chair. After that, do the procedure. Alternate until he complies or it kills him."

"No!" Jughead struggled like crazy, even though it felt like his jaw was going to split in half. He kicked and hit at Grant, aiming for whatever he could reach. He was trying to get to Matt, but the men were already picking him up. Matt hung between them, limp and unmoving as a doll. Blood followed him in fat splashes as they dragged him towards the door. "No! No! Please! Don't! Don't!"

Grant used the grip on Jughead's jawbone to pull his head forward, then shove it into the wall. It felt like getting hit with a baseball bat, and for a second Jughead couldn't see. When it came back Grant was petting the side of his face. "I'm sorry," Grant said. "I hate having to do that. But you need to learn your place." He slapped Jughead's cheek so hard his head turned with the blow. "You _do not_ talk back to me, Forsythe. Especially not in front of my men. Do you understand?"

Jughead swallowed painfully. When he nodded it hurt. "Y-yes, sir." He swallowed, tears still leaking from his eyes. "Please, sir. Please don't hurt him again," he whispered. 

Grant stared at him a moment, jaw working, then nodded to himself. He stood. "Hey, Robert?" he called casually.

The men had already pulled Matt outside, but now they stopped. One of them turned to look at Grant through the doorway. "Yes, Sir?"

Grant was still staring at Jughead. Jughead felt like a bug in a jar. "I changed my mind. Patch Matt up, but don't take him to the Chair afterwards. Just do the procedure. Let him rest."

"Yes, Sir," Robert said. He and the other man left. Matt didn't even twitch.

"Thank you," Jughead said, heart pounding in relief that was way too close to fear. He knew it didn't mean they were safe, even for a little bit. He knew it didn't mean Matt would survive. There couldn't be real doctors here, working with this madman who thought he and Matt were family, and thought family meant torture or unquestioning obedience. Maybe Robert or one of the other men was a medic, but what if Matt needed more than just stitches?

Grant sounded confident that Matt would be alright, but Grant was crazy.

Grant was also still staring at him, and Jughead really hated the look in his eyes. It reminded him of his mom, when Jughead had disappointed her again just by breathing. Only Gladys wouldn't do anything like this, even if she didn't want Jughead to be her son.

"How old are you?" Grant asked, "Fourteen, right?" As if he couldn't know that when he knew everything else about him. He tapped his lips with his fingers wrapping his chin. "You know, your brother Illya was given the serum when he was thirteen. That was the first time he was put in the Chair, too." Grant grimaced. "He still betrayed us, in the end. All of you did. You ran away and left me behind."

Jughead didn't know who Illya was. He hadn't even known Grant existed before coming home to the hell of his father dying. He almost said that, but he was dizzy and his face still ached and he didn't dare.

"But I'm going to fix that," Grant said, voice bright. It made Jughead's skin crawl. "None of you will ever leave me again."

He snatched Jughead by the collar, heaving him off the floor. "I didn't want to do this yet, but you made me. Your decisions brought us here, Forsythe. I hope you remember that."

He started dragging Jughead down the hall, going left. When Jughead struggled and screamed he changed his grip so that his arm was around Jughead's throat, then pulled back 'til the world greyed out at the edges.

"I'm sorry," Grant said. His voice came from a long way away. "I wish I didn't have to do this. But it's the only way. Eventually you'll understand. It'll only hurt for a little while, I promise. And then you'll be happy to comply and we'll be a family again."

He kept dragging Jughead with his arm around his throat.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Next fic is the rescue! I'm almost sure of it!
> 
> * * *
> 
> I am way less mean on [Tumblr!](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/)


End file.
